


Die of the Dead

by Rexila



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexila/pseuds/Rexila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if a broken pin was used on the voodoo doll? What does it take to ruin a timeline? Do the Felt members keep their powers after death? And, most important and most asked around the gang, who would last the longest in an undead onslaught?</p><p>Die doesn't know, Die doesn't <em>want</em> to know, but like it or not, he's going to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It seemed to be a rule in the Felt mansion that Crowbar could never, _ever_ get a moment for himself, even when he _just_ wanted to read a book. Even if it was his day off (however much that counted in a criminal gang of time-travellers) - no, no, rather, _especially_ when it was his day off. Even if they had no illegal or morally ambiguous activities to plan and carry out, someone _always_ had a problem, and for some _strange_ reason, he was the guy everyone went to. Oh well, that’s what he got for being the most responsible and arguably the smartest of thirteen idiots and a huge bitch.

“Uh, hey, Crowbar?”

Crowbar repressed a sigh and leaned around his chair to address the problem of the hour.

“What is it, Die?”

“Er,” Die began, and was fiddling with his doll and looking everywhere but at Crowbar. Always a good start.

Cautiously, he stepped a little further into the room.

“Uh, Crowbar, what, ah, what happens when we die?”

Crowbar took a moment to consider the question, and then frowned.

“Physically, spiritually, or temporally?”

Die chewed his lip and thought about it.

“The last one, I guess?”

Crowbar shrugged, “Our bodies just stay there, I guess, can’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t.”

Die nodded, and one of his hands went to his pocket. He still didn’t leave, though, and after a minute, he licked his lips and started talking again.

“Uh- uh, do we still have our powers when we’re dead, do you think?”

Crowbar had a sinking feeling of suspicion, though he wasn’t sure what he was suspecting just yet. He narrowed his eyes.

“Why would that matter?”

Die looked at a clock on the far wall to his right, and didn’t acknowledge Crowbar at all. Crowbar frowned.

“Die, what happened?” he said slowly and firmly.

“Oh, ah, nothing to worry about, I’m sure,” Die mumbled quickly, and then looked up.

“Um thanks,” he said quietly, and vanished.

Crowbar shook his head, but went back to his book.

Time-gangster or not, he lost track of how long he spent reading his book uninterrupted. Of course, it didn’t feel like very long before the air in the room displaced itself again. Crowbar shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and very professionally _did not_ sigh. However, as he turned to greet Die again, he found himself suddenly hauled out of his chair by his vest.

“CROWBAR DO WE KEEP OUR POWERS WHEN WE DIE YES OR NO?” Die yelled in Crowbar’s face while shaking him frantically.

“Holy shit! I don’t know, maybe?” was all Crowbar could blurt.

Die dropped Crowbar and pulled his doll out again, hissing something under his breath that sounded like “Fffffu-” before vanishing.

Crowbar wasn’t sure what was worrying him more about that outburst, Die’s demeanour, or that he seemed to be splattered in gore. He glanced down at his vest, which had two red smears where Die’s hands had been. Crowbar grimaced and rubbed his fingers on one of the stains to see how... Fresh whatever it was - it was acting like old clotted blood, but --

No, no, just, _no,_ whatever Die was doing didn’t directly concern him, so he wasn’t going to stick his nose into his problems. This was his day _off_ goddammit, and he was going to just sit there, and read his book, uninterrupted.

And he was doing fine, too, even if the smears on his vest smelled a little, but then _every clock in the mansion chimed._

Crowbar dropped the book and covered his ears. Fuck, you know, he’d spent so much time in the gang and he _still_ didn’t know why they did that!

They all more or less tapered off after twelve chimes, and the mansion fell back into relative silence. Crowbar scowled a little at the clocks lining the room, but since they seemed to be done making noise, he just... He just went back to his book. Fuck it, that was the least of the weird shit that could happen in this mansion, and he wasn’t going to let that get to him, he was going to try to wring some _enjoyment_ out of this day if it was the last thing h-

Die reappeared, this time practically throwing himself at Crowbar. Though, at first, Crowbar didn’t recognize Die - he had been hasty to describe Die as ‘splattered with gore’ before. That had simply been a small splash across the front of his coat and a few splatters on his arms. Now, his entire front was covered in drying red stains, his right sleeve up to his elbow was red, and there were splatters across his face. He was shaking and covered in sweat, with the scent to match. Crowbar was so stunned (and so desperately trying not to look horrified) that he didn’t even attempt to stop Die from landing on him.

“Crowbar,” he panted, his hands caught in Crowbar’s vest again. Crowbar’s hand hovered as he tried to decide if it was worth batting Die away or not.

“Uh, yeah, Die?”

Die sucked in another breath, then looked up at Crowbar and had the audacity to _glare._

 _“Crowbar._ I need your _crowbar.”_

Oh, right. Crowbar raised his eyebrows.

“I - uh, don’t have it with me?”

Die’s eye twitched.

“Why the f- why _wouldn’t_ you?! Don’t you know what _could_ happen - I mean what if like the Midnight Crew barged in right now?! Would you tell them to wait while you got your crowbar _no I don’t think so_ arrgh what is _with_ everybody?!”

As he ranted about his coworkers’ inability to prepare, he released Crowbar’s vest and without that anchor, started sliding down to the floor. Crowbar wore what could only be described as 'a look of dismay’ (and certainly not ‘completely grossed out’) as Die rubbed red probably-blood down his front and legs.

“Augh- uh, it’s probably in my room if you really need it?” Crowbar offered while glancing at one of the doors.

Die didn’t break his rant, muffled as it was by the carpet; he just raised a hand, holding a pin, and stabbed his doll, all without raising his head from the floor.

Crowbar spent a little longer looking at where Die had been, and then at the, paint-job Die gave him. He thought about - not _asking_ because he did _not_ want to know, but maybe just... Speculating. Maybe consider what the hell Die was getting up to, maybe try planning something just in highly probable event that he got dragged into the mess, whatever it was.

But Die was the only who had interrupted him, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Or maybe it was just a different timeline, and he didn’t have to worry about it. And, no question about it, it was his _day off,_ so fuck that, it _wasn’t his problem._

With that decided, Crowbar shook his head and leaned back in his chair, but didn’t get the chance to raise his book again before the doors behind him swung open. He leaned around his chair to see Die striding into the room. Die looked, well, he looked _tired,_ but almost uncharacteristically annoyed, too.

Die stopped a few feet into the room, dripping on the carpet. Oh yes, his uniform was nearly red now, also bearing what could be pieces of bone or... Other organic materials.

“Timeline’s fucked,” he said bluntly.

“Uh. What?” Crowbar said, blinking.

Die rolled his eyes.

“Contagion spread. Temporal doors left open. Monsters coming in. Timeline _fucked_ , everybody _out.”_

Crowbar stared, then slowly tilted his head.

“Die, what did you-” 

“I broke it,” Die said and raised his doll, which was nearly completely covered in red handprints.

“Now would probably be a good time to evacuate,” he added, and vanished.

It was now, while Crowbar was quiet and really focusing on something other than his book, that he could hear the faint sounds of growling and roaring from the depths of the mansion. Slowly, he frowned, and wondered how he was going to explain this one on the report.


	2. I Accidentally the Timeline (is this dangerous?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a big thank you to everyone who watched me mash out most of this chapter in the livestream I did, and also thank you Liz for being an on-call beta! XD

If he had just let Cans have his stupid way, he would have never started this whole clusterfuck in the first place.

But no, when Cans told him to move, Die decided it would be a good time to try out that ‘self-esteem’ thing Crowbar was always talking about, and refused. Cans snarled and shoved him, easily knocking him off his feet. As Die landed hard on his side, he realized two things - 1, that he was thinking _confidence,_ not self-esteem, ugh, _stupid,_ but 2, and more importantly, he was in another timeline.

There hadn’t been the discordant moan of a grandfather clock when he fell, so that couldn’t have been Cans, but Die had his theories, and standing up confirmed it: he’d fallen on his doll.

Sighing, he rolled over and started to get up, but the movement dislodged what looked like a little blue bead, which rolled like its weight was unbalanced. When it stopped, his insides froze as he understood why it was so odd - because it wasn’t a bead, it was the head of a pin.

It was then that Die _really_ started paying attention to his surroundings.

The power was out, which Die had always thought was impossible in the mansion, and the low lighting made everything in the room feel that much creepier. It was eerily quiet, though if he strained he could hear the occasional thump or thunk from somewhere deep in the manor. Something moaned quietly, but that could have been the wind in the halls or the supports settling. That’s certainly what it was, no matter how terrifyingly still and lonely it felt in this timeline.

Die swallowed, and stood up, pausing only to pick up the head of the pin. It was actually a blue stripe on a white ball, making it Sawbuck’s death he was holding. Or, uh, would be holding if it wasn’t broken.

To check (and because he’d kind of have to eventually), Die drew his doll, and as he did more pinheads clattered to the ground. Two more, going by the headless pins still in the doll (and just knowing how many pins he had in it to begin with), and while that wasn’t good either, it at least couldn’t make things any worse. Truth be told he had always been a little curious about unlikely crap like that, but never to the point where he wanted to find out.

Since he kind of wanted to keep it that way, he tucked the doll under his arm and fished out his pin-tin, but as he was trying to remember whose deaths defined his timeline, the doors rattled. Die froze, hand hovering over the doll. The doors rattled again - or, more like, something threw itself into them at great force. There was a loud and terrifying groan from behind the door, and then another blow to it.

Die yelped and stabbed the doll with the first pin he could hold in his shaking hands.

The first thing he noticed was the smell - blood and meat and shit and rot. Always a good start.

Next were the sounds - tearing, squishing, a wet smacking, and it was behind him. Shakily, Die turned around.

It was maybe four or five Eggs, all with open wounds on their faces and arms, with exposed bones and pale peeling skin, though they were hardly bleeding. They weren’t bothered by it much, either. Their eyes were glazed over (more than usual) and their arms and mouths were dripping with fresh blood, and in their hands... Oh.

Die looked down. At the feet of the Eggs were a pair of Biscuits, blood and tears still glistening on their faces. Chunks of flesh were missing from their arms and necks, and their green torsos were ripped open, and the red and pink intestines within were in the mouths of the Eggs.

Die looked at the doll. It had an orange and white pin in it, as well as the broken ones. He looked back at the Eggs. Most of them - mainly the ones without guts in their hands - were staring at him.

“Fuck,” Die said.

He started backing away, but the Eggs started forward too. Die gulped and fumbled faster with the pins. This wasn’t a _hard_ problem, he just - he pulled Biscuits’ pin, but as was the risk with the doll, he didn’t end up in that first room, just an earlier instance where Biscuits was alive.

It took Die a moment to orient himself - the room was smaller, sturdier, maybe one of the lower floors, possibly a cellar or something - the door out was barricaded, but knowing the mansion, it wasn’t the only exit.

Biscuits, alive and in one piece, was to his right, and beside him Eggs was slouched against the wall, looking considerably less healthy, pale with an old, nasty-looking wound by the base of his neck. Die winced a little, but raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in something approximating a friendly wave.

“Hello, Die!” Biscuits said cheerily, which was about the level of awareness Die expected from him.

“Die?” said another voice. Matchsticks was on the other side of the room, behind some kind of empty-shelf barricade and holding an assault rifle.

“Thank god, someone else who knows how to use a gun,” he said gruffly as he started to make his way over.

Die immediately glanced behind him in case there was another Die in the room.

“Shit is really fucked up out there,” Matchsticks continued, then smirked wryly, “Thought you woulda poofed out ages ago.”

“Actually,” Die started, a little nervous, “I, uh, I probably did. I’m not from this timeline, so...”

Die kept his gaze locked firmly on his doll and not at how angry Matchsticks was going to be.

 _“What?”_ oh yeah, he was going to be angry, all right.

Die swallowed and focused on the pins - carefully, he grabbed one, but his gloves slipped a little against the naked metal.

“Oh no you don’t, you fucking coward!” Matchsticks growled and stomped closer.

Die stuck his tongue out in concentration and tried again, wiggling the pin gently once he got a hold of it. It came free just as Matchsticks was reaching for him, and Die appeared in another timeline.

“Quarters bit one of me!” Eggs was saying mournfully, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Yeah, that thing ain’t Quarters anymore,” Crowbar said bitterly.

As he looked away from Eggs, he noticed Die and nodded.

“Oh, Die, you made it,” he said with a grim smile.

Die shrugged and took in his surroundings - front hall this time (one of them, anyway), a grand thing with a second floor and the dual-staircase thing, and Fin, Trace, Doze, Eggs, and Biscuits were standing with Crowbar in the middle of the hall. Die nodded and half-waved at them. Fin, at the back of the group, huffed and leaned over to Trace and muttered something (Die _hated_ it when they did that).

“Um. Sorry. I’m not here long, this, uh, this isn’t my timeline,” Die said, turning back to Crowbar as he fumbled with the other headless pin.

“Oh. You sure?”

“Yeah,” Die mumbled, and finally got a hold on the pin.

He hesitated, though, and glanced at Eggs.

“I’d, um, keep an eye on him, though,” he whispered.

Crowbar narrowed his eyes and looked at Eggs as well, but he nodded. Die nodded back, and started wiggling the pin.

Suddenly, a door on the second floor smashed open and an inhuman roar sounded from whatever was charging through. The group looked up to watch Quarters - or whatever Quarters was now - leap over the banister and right towards the group.

Being professional, murderous, temporal gangsters, their unified reaction was of course to scream like terrified B-movie starlets and scramble in any direction that wasn’t where Quarters was about to land. Except for Die, who spent a few seconds longer in the ‘staring stunned’ phase than everyone else.

He _really_ had to work on his deer-in-headlights reflex, because while he snapped out of it in time to stumble out of the way, he was still the one closest to Quarters. Quarters towered over him, breathing heavy and raspy until he roared again. Die turned and bolted at the first hint that Quarters was even shifting his weight. The loud, clumsy footsteps following him only confirmed that Die had made the right choice. Or, maybe a dumb one, because pulling out that damned pin would have been a better idea, but whoops. Die had a hard enough time pulling out regular pins while he was scared and running, though, so he had to think of something else, fast.

First and most importantly, could he outrun Quarters? Probably not - he couldn’t when Quarters wasn’t a half-dead monster, so it stood to reason that he still couldn’t, which meant it was only a matter of time before he was caught, unless he thought of something soon.

He did, but he was halfway up one of the flights of stairs when it came to him. He stopped, glanced at the railing, and then at Quarters who was charging towards him. Die shut his eyes and hopped the railing while desperately trying to remember Fin’s lesson on jumping off or over things. He thought he had something about dive-rolls, but it turned out not to matter as his fall was broken by a side table covered with clocks and weird harlequin statuettes. He bounced off the table and landed flat on the floor amongst the (hard and pointy) stuff he’d knocked off it, but he at least still had the presence of mind to get up and run before Quarters followed.

To his own surprise, he made it to a side door before he heard Quarters break the table, and by the sounds of it, maybe an ankle too. Good, good, maybe that would somehow slow him down.

Maybe one of the others was calling his name or Quarters’ name or something but Die really, _really_ had other things to focus on, like remembering how to work a doorknob. Which he did, and he was off in the maze-like halls of the mansion. Half the Felt could get lost in the halls when they weren’t rotting monsters, so maybe it would be okay.

Or, maybe rotting monsters tracked their prey by scent. Or sound, since Die was still yelping and whimpering and occasionally screaming every time he heard a loud thump or any kind of growling, which was near-constantly in the pursuit.

The hall split up ahead and Die dove to the right. He checked over his shoulder as he ran down the hall to see if that could possibly fool Quarters, but he really should have kept his eyes on the road because there was a groan from not too far away.

Die stopped so suddenly his shoes slid on the carpet, and found himself staring down a pale, stinking, rotting version of Sawbuck. Sawbuck lurched forward, and Die started backing up. He checked over his shoulder, and while the hall continued after the turn he took, he could still hear Quarters quick and uneven gait. He chewed his lip and looked back at Sawbuck, and desperately tried to come up with something. Fin’s lessons (really more casual discussion and bragging now that he thought on it) popped back into his head, as well as Itchy’s own, uh, pieces of advice. Which were terrible, they always were, and everything that came out of Itchy’s mouth tended to be bullshit anyway, but he wasn’t working with a whole lot of time here.

Die backed up a little more, but less to get away and more to gain a running start before charging at Sawbuck. If Sawbuck realized his prey was running at him at all, he didn’t show it. Or do anything other than continue to tromp forward steadily. Die shut his eyes and made a flying leap for Sawbuck, pretending with all his might that Sawbuck’s fat square head was a railing or something harmless and inorganic.

Unfortunately Sawbuck was not harmless and inorganic, nor was Die particularly athletic. Instead of smoothly clearing the jump, Die ended up kind of colliding against Sawbuck’s shoulder, and Sawbuck by reflex or intent wrapped his arms around him. In another context that could be hilarious(ly embarrassing), but at that moment all Die could think of was that hallway painted with Biscuits and how much he did not want to be eaten alive by anyone.

Sawbuck made a horrible un-Sawbuck like noise and Die, unable to pry himself out of the, aha, death grip did the next best thing and freaked the fuck out. He swung his arms and legs wildly, yelling and swearing and cursing, but that was going nowhere and he could feel Sawbuck turning his head against his side, and shit _shit_ why didn’t he carry any weapons ever seriously the sharpest thing he had on him were his pins-

Lacking _any_ better option Die grabbed the pin from his hat and just started stabbing at Sawbucks head as best as he could (while still punching and kicking as much as he could).

And then, to Die’s surprise, he was on the floor. He blinked, and quickly checked himself to make sure he was in one piece, and he _was,_ and then he remembered he was being hunted down by monstrous versions of his already pretty monstrous coworkers and he spun around to check for them.

Sawbuck, strangely, was gone. Something nagged in the back of his mind about that, but he’d think about it later. He looked over his shoulder, down the hall, and was also surprised to see his doll a few feet away. Hah, whoops, it must have flown out of his hands while he was flailing against Sawbuck, that was pretty silly of him --

And then he saw Quarters, who was charging from the other end of the hall and approaching fast, despite the gross angle his left foot was bent in. Die squeaked and shot to his feet, but with his usual escape route laying on the floor just out of reach, he wasn’t sure what to do. The incoming Quarters kind of forced a solution on him, however.

“Fuck me,” Die groaned, and started running again.

The mansion was maze-like, yes, primarily because it was full of redundant paths and rooms. Normally this was the bane of Die’s daily life, and everyone else’s really, but holy shit today was the day he wanted to shake their architect's hand instead of cutting it off feeding it to him.

He took the first right turn he could find, and kept running with Quarters’ growling acting as the encouraging words of a coach (or like Crowbar during that one ill-fated attempt at a implementing a fitness program) and motivating him to the next right turn. After that it was a straight run back to where he started - the (previously unsmashed) side door he had scrambled through before. Which was good because Die really _did not_ have the stamina to do another lap.

Even if he had forgotten the way he’d taken, Quarters had left a helpful trail of blood that Die stumbled along until he found his doll. By then he was more walking briskly - yes, Quarters was getting dangerously close but _fuck him_ he had his time traveling doll now.

Die executed a mediocre Feltroll and caught the doll with a triumphant grin. That look fell away immediately when a pins-and-needles feeling spread up his arm from the Doll. That only happened when something altered the timeline’s composition, which meant he had about a minute to correct the doll before he jumped automatically. While this side-effect also granted him the intuition to fix it quickly, there were times where he was stumped. Like, for example, with Quarters breathing down his neck (alive or dead).

Even then, with his pins messed up and the state of the mansion - OH shit Quarters was breathing down his neck!

Die rolled to the side just as Quarters crashed into the floor, growling and snapping his teeth. Die gulped and shakily got to his feet, but Quarters was already crouching and reorienting himself. Die looked at his doll and tried to remember how long thirty seconds was supposed to last.

As it turned out, just long enough to freak Die out with another lunge from Quarters. Die flailed and stumbled backwards and fell into the new timeline.

The power was still out, so that meant he was still in the weird broken-pin timeline, but he was also alone in the room (not a hall, why did the doll move him through space too if their thing was time?), so that was far better than his last situation. Die took a moment to quietly appreciate the rarity of that.

It was while he was the midst of that quiet appreciation that he remembered the mysteriously disappearing Sawbuck. Thinking on it, it wasn’t the first time that had happened. There had been firefights (which Die made sure to ‘accidentally’ miss out on) where he found himself suddenly dropped into another timeline because Sawbuck had rearranged it on him. It was kind of annoying until Die figured out that nine times out of ten, just stabbing his pin fixed it. But then there were the times where he popped back _in_ to a timeline, and that was-

Oh.

 _Oh._

Whoops.

Die froze for a second before scrambling for the pins in the doll. One was sticking out cleanly, as voodoo pins _should,_ but Quarters must have stepped on the doll or something because the other pin was so deep in he could barely get a grip on it. Die rolled his eyes and squished the doll to work that embedded pin out the other side. Of course, as he was doing this, something thunked outside of the room.

Die just sighed and shook his head, but he at least knew enough now to stay quiet and work on the doll.

He had been assuming it was Quarters or Sawbuck out there, until someone started talking.

“Man did you even see that? He was fucking insane! How nuts do ya gotta be to go after people facefirst, right?”

Oh no, oh god. That was Itchy.

Well, that wasn’t _bad_ , just, Die kind of hated Itchy. Everyone kind of hated Itchy, unless they had been drinking.

“Gee, Itchy, it’s like I was there too.”

Or, unless they could out-smug him, like Clover. Well, if Die stayed quiet, those two could keep each other busy and wouldn’t ever know he was there.

“Fuck’s sake, Clover, I’m just thinking out loud!”

Clover giggled, and Itchy must have stopped walking since his voice was coming from the same spot outside.

“I swear to god, if you make a jab like ‘oooh but Itchy if you were thinking out loud you wouldn’t be talking bluh bluh’ I am gonna clock you.”

“I didn’t, did I?” Clover said innocently.

There was a pause.

“Whatever. At least I can collect from Trace! I _knew_ Quarters was gonna be the first to snap! Trace was always all ‘nooo no way we totally drive Crowbar way crazier than that’ but naw, anyone with a stick as far up his ass as Crowbar’s gonna take way longer to lose it than a guy with something to prove!”

“You certainly know what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Hm? Nothing, just commenting, do go on.”

Thankfully, they’d started walking again. Die could _just_ see the pin sticking out the other side of the doll now, and started pulling at that while still squishing the head of the doll.

“Didn’t think he’d lose it on the geezer first, though,” Itchy continued, presumably when he was done seething at Clover, “I mean the guy’s a pain in the ass, right, but not enough to fuckin' go primal on.”

Die paused. Quarters had gone after Stitch? Well, Stitch had obviously survived, but if he’d been injured like Eggs, that might not last long. And if Stitch was out of commission, that might... Complicate things for this version of the gang.

“And with you givin’ him work all the time, I figured you’d have the bigger target anyway,” Itchy concluded.

Clover didn’t laugh, but you could hear it in his voice.

“I guess I’m just lucky like that.”

Die suddenly jabbed himself with the pin, having been too caught up in the dialogue between Itchy and Clover to pay attention to his progress with the doll. He swore, and he must have been just loud enough to be heard through the door because it was _silent,_ which meant something had Itchy’s attention.

“The hell was that?”

Die grimaced, shook his hand out, and tried to get a grip on the stupid headless pin now that enough of it was out of the doll.

“Something in the room,” Clover said brightly.

“I know that, you fucking idiot!”

Clover giggled, “Oh, okay. In that case, I guess you don’t need my help investigating the mysterious noise?”

Missing the hint (if Clover wasn’t outright trying to fuck with him), Itchy huffed and headed to the doors.

“Damn right I don’t! What good are you gonna be anyway, pint-size?”

If Clover had a coy response to that, Die didn’t get to hear it since the pin came free and dropped him into another fucked up and dark timeline.

It was cold and dark again, so he was probably in the lower levels again. Only, unlike last time, he wasn’t anywhere with emergency lights, or any kind of furnishing - feeling around quickly told him he was in a narrow, uncarpeted hallway. So, yes, definitely basement level. There didn’t seem to be anyone around either, but all of that didn’t matter since he was only going to stay there long enough to get that second pin out, which would be far easier than

The growl close to his ear was all the hint Die needed to start running.

Not that Die could clearly tell over his pounding feet, pounding heart, and endlessly echoing screams, but this Quarters had a steady, unbroken-ankle gait. Actually, none of that mattered, Die was at this point running as fast as he could anyway and wasn’t exactly going to change his pace for anything.

Oh, except for whatever he just slammed into, that was something.

It was a miracle he didn’t knock himself out, though there was a second where Die forgot completely what he was doing or why his face hurt a lot. Quarters was good enough to remind him of it, and Die squeaked and made a grab for the door handle-

“Wait _wait_ I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled frantically and went for the pin-

But shit his hand was shaking and slipping on it again and Quarters couldn’t have been more than a foot away so in a last ditch effort Die just grabbed the pin with his teeth and yanked the doll back and--

And it was light out!

And quiet!

And not anywhere near the cellars!

Probably on the second floor, in fact!

Die blinked as his eyes adjusted, and as it sunk in that yes he wasn’t being mauled by a monster!

He pumped his fists in the air and cheered through his teeth, which he noticed were still holding one of the stupid pins that started this whole mess, so with no small amount of glee he spat the thing out and practically bounced to his feet.

Which was when he noticed he wasn’t alone. No monsters this time, just Itchy, Fin, Doze, Matchsticks, and, surprisingly, Snowman, all giving him weird looks. Well, Doze wasn’t yet, but Die assumed once he caught on he would too.

Die shrugged casual-like and brushed his coat.

“Have a nice trip?” Snowman asked.

Right as Die was about to answer, his foot caught on a fold in the rug and he fell, dropping the doll and somehow also knocking his pin tin out of his coat, where it of course burst open and spilled spare pins everywhere.

“He sure did now!” Itchy guffawed, probably elbowing Doze as he did. Die couldn’t tell, having just faceplanted and all.

He sighed, but it wasn’t as deep and bitter as it might have been usually. After all, that was a completely _normal_ exchange, and even if this wasn’t the timeline he’d started in, it sure beat the hell out of running from Quarters.

Which was also partly why he hadn’t bothered getting up yet. The gaudy rugs of the mansion had never been so inviting, but while it was a good enough spot to catch his breath, he didn’t want to spend too long down there (or Itchy would harass him - well, to be completely honest, a little more than he did normally).

Die at least used the excuse of picking up his things to stay partially on the ground, and also as a way of ignoring the others as they cracked jokes or talked about whatever. That was a task that became easier when he picked up his doll.

The pins-and-needles feeling was back. That was... Strange, considering how quiet the mansion seemed, but Die had learned the hard way that his team was sometimes a bit accident-prone. It could have just been Cans sitting on someone again, or someone smoking around the effigies, something innocent and stupid like that. With his pins spread out in front of him, it was easier to just relax (as much as he could in light of his day so far) and let his intuition guide him.

Except his intuition was really really stupid because it left his hand hovering over a headless pin.

That was completely ridiculous, right? This timeline seemed perfectly untouched and there was no reason for there to be any kind of horrific monster version of themselves so _why wasn’t his hand moving shit shit._

“Die?”

That was Snowman’s voice again, and leave it to her to pick up on his nervousness. Die wanted to just shut his eyes, but he needed to see to pick out the pin combination he wanted. As a very reluctant afterthought, he took the headless pins and put them in his pocket, then with an intact pin for Quarters, Sawbuck, and Eggs, he stabbed the doll.

By luck, or perhaps, sometimes, because the time-travel bullshit chose listen to Die’s deep desires, he appeared in a small lounge-type room. A few feet away was a chair, which was thankfully occupied by the man Die really needed to see.

“Uh, hey, Crowbar?” Die said cautiously.

Crowbar very quietly sighed and leaned around the back of his chair.

“What is it, Die?”

Man, Crowbar kind of sounded like he wanted to be left alone. Which was how he sounded like pretty much every time he wasn’t actively working, but this was kind of an emergency so he would just have to deal with it.

Still, Die kind of felt nervous about bothering him. It took him a moment to come up with what he wanted to say and how he was going to say it.

“Uh, Crowbar, what, ah, what happens when we die?”

Crowbar frowned.

“Physically, spiritually, or temporally?”

Die thought about it for a second, and decided that okay, temporally kind of covered it.

“The last one, I guess?”

Crowbar just shrugged and started to turn back.

“Our bodies just stay there, I guess, can’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t.”

Die nodded, but clearly Crowbar didn’t really get what the problem was. And Die wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely clear about it, either, because Crowbar might be kind of mad about messing with the timelines to that extent. As he mulled it over, his hand guiltily strayed to the broken pins in his pocket. He was kind of at fault, assuming that timeline wasn’t destined to become infested with zombies, assuming destiny was a _thing_ , but at the same time, maybe... maybe it wasn’t a problem.

Die wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, and wasn’t sure he didn’t have it already, but he glanced back up at Crowbar and asked, “Uh- uh, do we still have our powers when we’re dead, do you think?”

Crowbar didn’t answer immediately. For a second, he looked like the question had taken him off-guard, but then his eyes narrowed.

“Why would that matter?” he said, clearly suspicious.

Die couldn’t take it anymore and glanced away as he tried to figure out how to put ‘I may or may not have dropped a Sawbuck cannibal monster in a timeline he didn’t belong in which might also be contagious whoops’ in a way that wouldn’t leave Crowbar incredibly mad or incredibly disappointed at him.

“Die, what happened?” Crowbar said, and oh yes, that was definitely his ‘I know you did something wrong, it’s just up to you how I find out’ voice.

Die decided he did not want Crowbar to find out at all, however, so he quickly and totally convincingly mumbled “Oh, ah, nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

To seal the deal and prove how completely truthful and confident he was being, he looked Crowbar in the eye and said “Um, thanks.”

Behind his back he stuck a pin in his doll and hopped to a different timeline.


	3. In a Haystack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Nearly a year without an update, huh? Pretty nuts! Stay tuned at the end of the chapter for a big announcement about this fic!!

It was a simple, one variable timeline. No zombies, just a point in time where only one of them was dead. It didn’t matter who, since Die was just hopping to get to his room, or some instance of it, anyway.

It was strange, when he thought about it, that he’d never run into any copies of himself. Sometimes, he saw evidence of his previous (or future?) excursions into other timelines, and sometimes they weren’t even consistent with his own experiences. It was strange, but it was probably for the best.

He quickly crossed his room (dark and completely uninteresting, as usual) to his shelf of back-up dolls. None of them would work while he still had one that was ‘active’, of course, but he wasn’t here for that. What would he even do with multiple dolls, anyway?

He quickly took a spare tin of pins from the shelf and moved to his desk next. Going through the drawers was an interesting experience as usual - it wasn’t that different instances of himself sorted things differently, just that he tended to drop whatever he didn’t need into his drawers thoughtlessly, and chance took over from there. Pliers, blessedly, were in the bottom of the first drawer he opened, and Die quickly got to work on snipping the ends off the spare pins. Always one to be prepared, he cut a pin for every member of the Felt, and once he was done, he looked at the doll and took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do - oh wait, no.

He went into the drawers again - nope, not the second one, not the third, either, so much for the right side, but the left side - yes, in the second left-hand drawer, underneath the burned remains of a doll (not a time-travelling one) and a headless rubber chicken was his gun, which was in excellent condition for how little he used it. He had never really considered it _his_ gun, admittedly, since it was more like a gag gift someone had got him - because it was a _six-shooter_ and he was number _six_ of the Felt, and wasn’t that _hilarious?_

Steeling himself for what he was about to do was a little easier with a gun in his hand.

There was a minor problem in that the original headless pins were in the same pocket, but Die had accepted that this unmarked pin business was running on luck. With a sigh, he picked one and stabbed the doll.

He reappeared in another green, classily-decorated room of the mansion, but there was no Sawbuck in sight. He carefully looked around, just to be sure, but when nothing big and Sawbucklike jumped out at him, he resigned himself to leaving the room.

Cautiously, he opened the doors of the parlour and stuck his head into the hall. (Why did they have so many of those in the mansion, anyway? There was classy and there was overcompensation, Scratch.) 

It was empty and quiet, and despite being lit, Die was on edge. But there still wasn’t any monster Sawbucks anywhere so he had no choice but to continue. Swallowing, Die carefully stepped into the abandoned hallway, and as stealthily as he could he slowly made his way through the hall, nearly tip-toeing, his doll tucked under one arm and both hands shakily clutching the gun. He tried to keep his breathing subtle as well, but no matter what he did, he felt like he was gasping noisily anyway.

He reached an intersection in the hall, and hesitated, trying to figure out which way to go. It was in that moment that a dark shape rounded it first.

Die yelped and fumbled his gun, which saved Trace from getting a facefull of misfired bullet.

“Die?” Trace said, confused more by the gun than Die’s sudden appearance.

Die steadied, took a deep breath, and looked at Trace.

“Hu-hi Trace,” he said, focusing on _anything_ else in the hallway, “Uh, ha-have you seen Sawbuck anywhere?”

Trace blinked, looked at the gun Die was still kind of pointing at his face, then back to Die, raising an eyebrow. Die followed this out the corner of his eye and shook his head.

“Don’t ask, just answer,” Die said.

Trace considered it for a second and shrugged.

“Nah, not lately. Try his room if you’re really, uh,” he glanced at the gun again, “desperate.”

Die nodded.

“O-okay, thank you.”

It was utterly worthless advice, of course, because the doll dropped Die near Sawbuck’s general location already, and this didn’t look anything like the hall their rooms would be in. It was too clean, too undamaged, and the doors weren’t personalized or vandalized. Looks like he was doing this the hard way.

Die sighed, sagging his shoulders, and reluctantly started down the hall the way Trace went. He would stop by any door he passed, work up the courage to open them, and then nervously check for Sawbuck. He had fruitlessly done this four times (two for the same room, large enough to allow that nonsense) when he reached the last door in that stretch of hallway. The last one on this floor, at least, and _boy,_ Die really hoped Sawbuck hadn’t been in the room below or above the one he appeared in.

He took a breath and opened the door. The room was dark - while the lights in the halls were on constantly, most of the rooms had switches in case someone needed, like, a dark room or something. Okay. Okay. Die didn’t have to _enter_ the room, just, just look around a little. It was quiet enough for him to hear his own breathing, as well as the rain starting up outside. He didn’t hear anything else, though, so maybe the room was empty.

He leaned in a little further to see the other end of the room -- nothing odd there, he concluded. He could just le-

There was a loud, booming roar and a flash of light and _oh god oh god oh fuck what was that-_

Die yelped and just about fell back into the doorframe as he tried to shoot the horrible creature, but in the few adrenaline-filled seconds following his eyes adjusted and he realized it was just a stupid weird-looking wolf’s head mounted on the wall.

“Geez, why do we even have that thing,” he panted. He smiled a little, though, because at least the wolf head was all-dead, not undead.

He had just started breathing normally again when a gurgling sound bubbled up from the other end of the room. Die froze up again and turned around. Thunder cracked again and another flash of lighting revealed what he thought to be another weird cabinet was in fact Sawbuck, and by the sound he’d made and the way he was lurching forward it was clear that this was the one he was looking for. Sawbuck took another step, and Die squeaked, raised the gun and fired it off.

At first, he could only tell that the room was still now, and for one, bright and shining moment, he thought that he _got_ Sawbuck.

Then it clicked that the tingling in his hands wasn’t from the gun, but from the alteration of the timeline. Die groaned, but did nothing but wait for the doll to move him.

It took him a few seconds to recognize he was in one of the halls again. The lighting was better, which was the first thing he noticed. He was close to some doors, to a room that had lights on and, despite the odds given the number of rooms versus the average number of residents, it was occupied.

“Geez, what’s _his_ deal,” Itchy’s voice said, “He’s such a creepy weirdo sometimes isn’t he?”

“He ain’t the only one,” said Matchsticks.

It took Itchy a second to catch on and start ranting at Matchsticks about who he’s calling weird or whatever he was insecure about that day, which Die tuned out mostly out of habit but partly because he heard someone hit a wall. It occurred to him that this might have been that first timeline he jumped to, even though timelines were weird and branchy sometimes. That was more something he registered at the back of his mind, much like he did with the scenery, familiar as he was with that kind of thing.

The commotion down the hall, Die discovered as he got closer, was between Quarters and Cans and someone, which was strange because either of them alone could end a confrontation in seconds.

There was a horrible tearing sound, and Cans stumbled back as he pulled someone away from Quarters.

Die stopped in his tracks, because that someone was Sawbuck. If there was any doubt in Die’s mind as to which Sawbuck it was, despite the bloodiness of his mouth and the sunken, blank eyes, the way he was thrashing around and growling completely unlike the normally docile original gave it away.

“Calm the fuck down already!” Cans growled.

When Sawbuck did no such thing, Cans roared and tossed him down the hall. Die didn’t usually like Cans very much but it was times like this that he could kind of appreciate his usefulness.

“Hey, you should give him a punch too,” giggled a voi- giggled _Clover,_ Die knew very well who that was, he just hadn’t noticed him behind Cans’ fat head.

Sawbuck, also unlike his normal self, sprinted at Cans, who just wound his arm back and-

Oh shit that’s right. Die started running too, waving his arms and trying to articulate a ‘s-s-stop!’ before the follow-through, but Cans’ arm was faster and with a horrible abused-clock-chime noise, Sawbuck flew backwards out of the timeline.

Die slowed and stopped, ending up between Cans and Quarters.

“What did you DO!?” Die exclaimed, waving his hands in an attempt to show Cans just how big a deal that was.

Cans of course, didn’t get it and just looked at Die like he was an idiot, nothing out of the ordinary for him, really, and Clover popped up behind his head and rested his chin on Cans’ hat, looking smug and giddy, which also wasn’t unusual.

Die heard something move behind him and he froze up and gripped his gun tighter, until he remembered Quarters was there too. But he froze again when he saw what Sawbuck had done to Quarters’ arm.

“Everyone’s acting crazy today,” Quarters grumbled, looking annoyed more than hurt. His nonchalance did absolutely nothing to reassure Die.

After all, Eggs had been bit, and that turned him into a monster. And monster-Quarters had gone after Stitch ‘face-first’, according to Itchy. Bites were bad news, and since Quarters was the victim- _Quarters was the victim!_

It occurred to Die that he could fix that ‘going after Stitch’ thing right now, and yeah it would be messy and awkward to explain but sterilizing a timeline would be worth it. He shakily raised his gun and Quarters looked at him like he couldn’t decide to laugh or chew him out.

“The hell are you doing, beanpole?” he said.

Die swallowed and willed himself to pull the trigger, but Quarters pushed off from the wall and started stomping towards him, and the hall wasn’t very wide. Die’s hands shook, and that had to effect his aim even if Quarters was like a foot from him-

“He sure is trigger-happy today!” Clover snickered, and was answered by a grunt.

Oh, whoops, he forgot about Cans. Luckily, the moment his giant hand clapped down on Die’s shoulder, the doll shifted him to a new timeline. That also happened to be the moment he jumped in surprise as well, screaming and pulling the trigger. But he was in a completely different hall in a completely different mansion, and there was a completely different target for him to miss.

“What in the sweet name of Peter Petroff?!” Fin exclaimed, stumbling further out of the way.

Die yelped as well and jumped away, and the two ended up facing each other on opposite sides of the hall. That it was Fin was probably what saved him, but even then it seemed he only _just_ saw Die’s trail in time. He was also the first to catch his breath, and went from staring at Die, to staring at the gun in Die’s hand.

“The _fuck_ is wrong with you?” he said.

Die also looked at the gun, and tried to come up with a quick and reasonable summary. That didn’t sound like he was having a bad trip. Which, he kind of had a lot of practice at, considering the normal shit he jumped away from or into, but thinking on it, he didn’t have to face monster-creating epidemics that often.

“Uh... I’m...” Die glanced around the hall. One of the lights nearby had burned out, and another one was flickering, adding atmosphere Die and his nerves really didn’t need.

Die looked back at his gun and raised his hand a little, his finger off the trigger for Fin’s sake more than his own.

“I - I uh, I’m kind of - I gotta-” he wiggled his gun hand, “uh, fix something.”

Fin raised his eyebrow.

“Right...”

Fin glanced to his left, staring at something only he could see.

“Right, well,” he turned back to Die with a smug look on his face, “I hope that goes--”

There was a heavy footstep and a loud _creak_ of floorboards down the hall. Die jumped and whirled to face it, and curiously, so did Fin. Of course, it was Sawbuck. Unlike the other Sawbucks, he had a gory looking wound scoring the side of his head.

“The hell did he come from?” Fin said quickly. Die shrugged, since he was shaking too much for words. 

Sawbuck lurched towards them, grunting and growling and flexing his hands. Despite being armed, Die started to back away. Once again, Fin surprised him by doing the same.

“The... What the fuck? What the fuck?!” Fin shouted. Die could hear Fin trying to edge behind him, which Die thwarted by drawing even with him - no way was he going to be anyone’s shield, armed or not!

Sawbuck made a weird, quiet howl of a noise, which helped Die remember that hey, he had a gun and he should probably use it. But more carefully, this time, even if this was a different Sawbuck than the last one-

Wait, he really was... The last one Die had seen had a different coat, open and missing a button, and he wasn’t wearing his necktie thing. This one’s coat was done up proper, and while the tie was undone, it was still there. Die momentarily drifted away from the situation to consider the implications, and really, really hoped this didn’t mean what he thought it did.

“Hey - is _that_ why you’re here?” Fin blurted.

Die blinked, snapping back to his horrible reality. Sawbuck was lurching closer. Die bit his lip and nodded.

“Why didn’t you fucking say so,” Fin said quickly and started fumbling around with his coat. 

It wasn’t until Fin had leaned into Die’s vision, armed with a glock, that Die realized what Fin was about to do. Too late, of course, because Fin fired about five times and Sawbuck vanished again.

Die shut his eyes and lowered his gun - he was relieved that they were out of danger, but he was kind of pissed because Fin had just made the problem worse. Kind of. Probably.

“What the hell was that?!” Fin exclaimed.

Die sighed and opened his eyes, just in time to watch Fin lunge at him and grab him by the shoulders. Die squeaked, but at least he didn’t shoot at him this time.

“Why couldn’t I see him?!” he demanded.

At the look Die gave him, Fin backed off and swept his hands to where Sawbuck had been.

“I couldn’t see his trail, Die! The _fuck’s_ going on?!”

Oh. Oh, that was interesting, and Die would have loved to speculate, or at least fill Fin in, but his doll shifted him again.

He was in another hallway, with better lighting, and for some reason it was more familiar than the other ones. Possibly because Sawbuck was in it. This was the dishevelled Sawbuck, and since Die was starting to get used to seeing a monstrous Sawbuck in one form or another, he didn’t hesitate too much before raising his gun. Of course, something else had to go wrong instead:

“Hey!” Cans shouted, from somewhere behind Die.

Die shut his eyes. Fuck. Fuck, but he had to get this, even if he could hear and feel Cans barrelling towards him.

He opened his eyes - Sawbuck was closer, and his teeth were bared. Cans sounded like he was right behind him, along with someone else big and - Quarters, it was probably Quarters, _shit._

Die risked looking over his shoulder.

“C-c-Cans, I gotta-” Die’s eyes went wide as he saw Cans winding up - “Oh! O-oh shit Cans no-”

But despite raising his arms and trying to back away, Cans still slugged him.

Die’s own method of time travel was confusing enough, but the science of punching someone through time was a mystery to Cans as well. Die barely had any idea what circumstances determined the destination of a victim’s clocking, other than some dim notion that it probably involved the strength and direction of the punch itself. Die wondered if the punch-recipient held any variables in the equation, like, say, whether they had a time-travel doll with a broken pin in it.

That might have been something, since Die noticed the darkness of the hall before his vision even realigned.

Fuck Cans, what an asshole.

It was only after he spent about a minute trying to breathe again that he noticed none of his aching was the pins-and-needles stuff from his doll. Wincing, Die propped himself on his forearms and noticed his Doll had been knocked out of his coat, and was lying about two feet away. Well, at least it ended up in this timeline. Glancing to his left revealed it was the same for his gun. That was good. Going by the amount of blood and plaster scattered around the hallway, he was probably going to need it.

Grimacing, Die got up and staggered over to his doll first. Escape was more important, since it was apparent that he really, _really_ sucked at defending himself. Once he had it - and could feel that its pins didn’t fit the timeline - he went for his gun. Better take that before-

Something shuffled in the hallway.

“Fuck,” Die hissed.

He quickly crouched to the ground and took the gun, staying low as he waited for the doll to move him. It couldn’t be long, and if he was lucky he wouldn’t even see what was out there.

Of course, who should lurch into view but Quarters, looking tattered and rotting as he did the ... Uh, the last time he was chased down by him. On a hunch, Die paid more mind to how he looked - Quarters was missing his jacket and his sleeve was rolled up, exposing the ugly, half-stitched bite wound on his forearm. Die nodded, and froze because _fuck_ , he moved. He hoped Quarters didn’t notice that.

He did.

Quarters growled and turned the corner. Die didn’t waste time - after all, he just had to keep away for another thirty seconds or so, right? He turned and started sprinting down the hall, with Quarters lopsided gait following behind. Die counted to thirty, realized that in light of the situation he might have been counting a little too fast, and kept counting for positive motivation. He hit about fifty seconds when suddenly he was airborne. He had enough time to think ‘oh, funny place to leave a piece of the wall,’ before he slammed face first into the floor and slid a painful foot across the rug.

Die whimpered, one part because _ow_ and also because Quarters hadn’t had the same misfortune yet, but as he put his hands to the floor to get back up, he noticed they were empty again.

He squeaked, and quickly flipped himself over. The doll and gun hadn’t landed beside or behind him, but since Quarters was right there he had to reorder his priorities and start trying to get away. He scrambled backwards until he somehow got the footing to spring to his feet and start running again, which was thankfully when he found his lost things - they had skidded across the floor in front of him. It was also when he noticed that he was running down a mostly dead end. Sure, _technically_ there was an escape route at the end of the hall, but since it was an empty dumbwaiter shaft, Die figured it was as good as dead anyway. As he ran up to it, he bent down for the doll. Fuck waiting, he was stabbing that thing with the first handful of pins he could hold! But just as he reached for it, he accidentally kicked it and sent it bouncing down the hall.

Die’s heart just about stopped when he saw how close it came to the gaping maw of the dumbwaiter shaft, but when it didn’t tumble over the edge, he sighed in relief. He then realized he had stopped, which was a monumentally _stupid_ thing to do because - he turned around and nearly came face-to-face with Quarters. Die screamed - no shame in admitting that since Quarters had that effect on many people when he was _alive_ \- and purely on reflex he ducked and shrank as far as he could against the wall and floor. By luck that could only be topped by Clover’s, that had been when Quarters made a leap for Die. Due to being in as tight of a ball as he could curl himself into, Die did not realize that until he had heard a loud _crack,_ followed by clanging noises that faded with Quarters’ enraged howling.

When a few minutes had passed without being torn to ribbons, Die risked opening an eye. The hall was empty. He opened the other one, and blinking, looked around. When he spotted the open shaft that was just behind him, the dots started connecting. He smiled, because he was safe, then grinned because _ha,_ stupid Quarters had fallen down an obvious frigging hole. Ha, these monsters were _dumb!_

His glee vanished the instant he realized his doll was nowhere to be seen.

Die stared at where it had been, close to the edge of the... Of the open shaft... And slumped against the wall, letting his head thunk against it. After a moment’s thought, he leaned away and smacked his head into the wall again. Then he turned around and planted his forehead into the wall properly. Stupid, _stupid, **stupid**_ fucking _doll_ , stupid fucking _life,_ and, who could _ever_ forget, _**stupid** fucking **him!** Fuck!_

He did it a few more times, but didn’t feel any better for it, and with a sigh, rolled back and stared at the shaft. He glanced down to a spot on the floor in front of it, closer to the wall. _Goodie,_ his gun had made it. At least he had _that_. 

When he thought about it, though, it wasn’t really much considering his record with the thing.

But it was better than nothing, and going by the timeline he was stuck in, he was probably going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, waiting a year for an update sucks, doesn't it?
> 
>  
> 
> It does! Which is why for the month of October, I will be doing a livestream every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday of this fic, from 10:00pm to Midnight(EST)! Wow!!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: What you will see in the stream will be heavily unedited. However since it took me this long to make myself edit this chapter, I'm going to just write as much of it as I can out and then I'll polish it and eventually put it here, but should I fail you'll at least get some more zombies-and-gangsters fun out of it!
> 
>  
> 
> You'll be able to find the stream here: [Die of the Dead googledocs livestream bonanza!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GerSNz0h1TwnCFy1sTdtEbNYxuo6xsRdZk7yADp6hVg/edit) The doc's private now, but it will be open on October 02, 2012 at 10:00pm EST around or abouts. Hope to see you there!


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